The Afterlight
by shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod
Summary: Steve wakes up in the Avengers Tower with no memory of how he got there. Even worse, the entire tower is vacant. As the eerie silence gets worse, he decides to search for the rest of his team. The only remnant that someone was in the tower is a Quinjet, which sits in the hangar, still smoking. Where is everyone and how did he end up there? Set after Age of Ultron.
1. Chapter 1

**Yay, new story! I've had this one for a while and just edited it and decided to post. This may not make a whole lot of sense now, but there is a twist coming in the next few chapters that will solve all of the questions. This prompt has been done before, but I wanted to try my hand at it, especially after writing Nothing Lasts Forever. Chapter lengths will range between 1-4k words. Alright, with all of this said, I hope that you guys enjoy! I will get the next chapter posted hopefully within the week, and feedback lets me know what to improve upon and change! Thanks for reading!**

 **Dreamscape1675 made the amazing cover photo!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything Marvel related except for a poster that I bought from a store.**

* * *

He had been woken up by the feeling of falling many times. Honestly, who hadn't? To be thrust from a dream by the terrible sensation of going right through the floor, or out the window of a skyscraper. Tumbling and flailing to no avail. The wind rushing around your ears until your eyes snap open and you are still.

But this time, it was different. Steve awoke on the cold stone floor, trying to get his bearings. The feeling of falling had awakened him once again. From or in what, he had no idea, but he blinked his eyes a few times to get used to the sudden brightness. As he sat up, a terrible stabbing started in the back of his skull. As if a piece of metal was lodged in it. It made him grind his teeth and clench his eyes, riding out the wave of agony until it dissipated. He moved his hand back and brushed his silky blonde hair, feeling nothing out of the unordinary. The feeling gradually began to decline, stopping as suddenly as it had started.

Steve shook it off and looked around. He was on the ground on the communal floor of the Avengers Tower. He had no idea how he got there. Why would he fall asleep on the floor in the first place?

Warm afternoon light was coming in through the windows as he shakily stood up. The tower was dead silent as Steve made his way into the elevator to go down to the gym, where he hoped Natasha would be.

The elevator dinged open and Steve set his eyes on the gym, expecting to see a flurry of red hair around one of the punching bags. He saw nothing. The bags sat still, suspended in the air. He walked over to the corner of the room and opened the door to the small dance floor, complete with mirrors and various bars. Natasha was nowhere to be seen. Confused, Steve shut the door and turned back to the gym.

"Natasha?" he called out, his voice echoing in the empty room. The assassin was nowhere to be seen. Shaking off the feeling that creeped up his spine, Steve decided to head down to Stark's lab.

"Friday, where is everyone?" Steve asked to the AI, expecting a robotic reply as always. There was none. "Friday?"

After the battle with Ultron, the new team had set up shop at the new facility in upstate New York, save for Steve and Natasha. JARVIS was meshed with Vision, so Tony had set about making Friday and new JARVIS. They all lived at the tower most of the time, and went to the facility for training and mission debriefings.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal Tony's workshop. "Stark, what kind of a game is this?" Steve yelled. His voice reverberated back to him among the glass and metal walls. Steve walked around, careful to not step on any of the multiple unfinished projects that lay scattered around the floor.

One, in particular, caught his eye. Steve bent down and stared at the coffee express, a robot looking thing that Tony had designed to bring him coffee. Long story short, it kept going haywire and spilling coffee all over him, so Tony dismantled and melted the robot to use for parts.

But no, the robot was all there, not melted. It sat before him just like the last time he had seen it. Steve shook his head and stood up.

For the first time ever, the coffee fueled inventor was not in his laboratory. Steve got back into the elevator and pushed the weapons level. The silence of the place was starting to get to him. After the battle with Ultron they had all moved back to the tower, except for Bruce who was still missing and Thor who had gone back to Asgard.

Clint and his family moved to the tower and there was always some amount of organized chaos going on. The tower without noise was simply eerie.

Once the elevator opened, Steve approached the long hallway with caution. Maybe someone had taken the team hostage. Steve was relieved when he saw his shield sitting in its usual spot on one of the shelves. He didn't remember placing it there, but he still slid it onto his arm, grateful for the familiar sense that it gave him.

A Quinjet, which was out of the ordinary, took up the majority of the space in the first level hangar. Before a mission, they would sometimes be dispatched a Quinjet to the tower to stock up on supplies for the mission. But it was scorched, smoke still rising off of it as it sat on the ground. The front cockpit had multiple holes in it, fracturing the material with icy looking cracks.

"What the hell?" Steve whispered to himself, as if Tony would pop out of somewhere and call him out on his language. It had been a running joke since the attack on the Sokovian HYDRA base, and did not seem to be going away any time soon. Steve opened the door to the hangar to let out some of the smoke, which had been collecting in the room and gave a fuzzy glow to everything.

Light flowed into the room as the doors opened, smoke flowing out. Steve stepped towards the doors and looked outside. It was too quiet. No bustling people, no honking cars, no street vendors yelling at people to buy hot dogs. Everyone was gone.

Steve stepped away from the door in surprise. He closed it quickly and ran back to the elevator. He went up to Clint's floor first, checking for the archer, his wife, or one of the three kids.

"Clint! Laura!" Steve yelled to the quiet floor. No response. He did the same to Tony and Natasha's floors, but they were both empty as well. There were no sounds other than the ringing in his ears and the heartbeat that thudded alongside it.

By the time he had finished scouring the tower for any signs of life, the moon was shining above the empty city. The tower lights came on automatically. Except for the street lamps, some of which were broken, the once busy, bustling, and brightly lit city was cloaked in darkness.

Steve walked up to his room, thoroughly confused. He was not hungry, as he should have been. Everyone was missing. And he had no recollection of anything that had led him to this point in time.

Sighing, he lie down on his bed, telling himself that it was just some sort of a dream or a trick of sorts. Maybe Wanda had been experimenting with her powers and accidentally set something off. It had happened before, so it was likely to have happened again. Steve fought that idea through his mind, saying it over and over until he believed it.

Just a vision. Nothing bad. She'll have him pulled out soon. For what felt like the first time in a long time, he closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

Fire. Burning. The air around him danced and swayed with waves of heat. Alarms were ringing, making his head pound even more as the plummeting feeling in his chest took over his body. He was thrown mercilessly around the interior of the Quinjet, trying to get ahold of something.

"Steve!" a pained voice shouted over his comms. Red light blinked on and off, illuminating everything in a fuzzy crimson glow. He felt something slippery beneath his fingers. The unbearable pain started in his head again.

The last thing he saw was blackness.

Steve jerked awake, the collar of his shirt drenched with sweat. His eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room as he sat up from the bed, chest heaving. Another nightmare. Steve pushed himself up from the bed and went to the bathroom to splash some water on his face, as he so often did when he was woken by a dream. Although the cool metal knobs against his fingers did give some relief, when they turned they did not yield any water. Confused, he walked over to the elevator, taking it up a few floors before stopping again and trying the faucet. Again, nothing, The whole tower was waterless.

The burned Quinjet in his dreams, not unlike the one he had seen earlier. The elevator dinged and opened once it reached the weapons floor. Steve stepped out and walked over to the Quinjet. The ramp at the base of it was closed. He got his fingers into the seams of the metal and pulled. With a grunt of effort, the ramp opened before sliding down to the ground. As Steve wiped soot off his hands, smoke obscured his view of the inside. Once the smoke had cleared, however, he gaped at what he saw.

Everything was askew. Parachutes were misplaced and thrown about. Glass shards were everywhere, glittering in the faint morning light that came in through the windows. Various pieces of metal and crates were lying on the floor in disarray.

But the thing that got to Steve was the deep red liquid that was pooled inside. The blood that was streaked across the floor of the Quinjet was still red, glistening against the cold steel hull. It was mostly collected in one area, although there were some drag marks on the other side of the jet. Steve bent down and pressed a light finger into the crimson liquid. His finger came away stained with red. He stared at it for a second, confused. He had swept the tower thoroughly the day before, there was no way that someone had gotten into the tower, much less the broken Quinjet. Steve wiped the blood off on his shirt and got up, feet padding back into the elevator, bound for the garage. It was time to clear his head.

* * *

 **Again, any kind of feedback is greatly appreciated ;)**


	2. Crash

**Slightly shorter chapter this time because I wanted to end in a specific place. Yes, it is cheesy and has been done before, but as I said, this is my take on it. This story will pick up in the coming chapters, I just have to set it all up first. Hope that you all enjoy! If you have any questions, leave it in a review and I will answer it in the next chapter.**

 **Shoutout to Sportsfan64, DreamEscape1675, Qweb, Belmene, and guests (AnonMetro, Mr nobody, CottonCandy) for your reviews! They mean a lot!**

 **No idea when the next chapter will be up, but I will get it done as soon as I can. Hopefully within the week, and if not, then next Saturday morning at the latest. Sorry in advance for the cliffhanger and thanks for reading!**

 **PS: Happy NaNoWriMo!**

 **Disclaimer: Still don't own Marvel. Didn't see that coming, did you?**

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Steve's motorcycle was parked, engine still warm, next to the bench where he now rested. A sketchbook sat in his hands, pen unmoving in his slender fingers. A rough sketch of the city lay flat on the pages, black lines expertly intertwining to form the outlines of skyscrapers. Drawing the city had always been a way for him to release pent up stress, especially after a mission that had not gone as planned. Some days, he turned to pen and paper. Other days, he turned his fists to the punching bag. Now, however, drawing the desolate city just made him feel more alone.

The pages seemed empty without the people that normally filled the streets. No joggers passed by him so that he would have to pull his outstretched feet out of the way. No children were playing frisbee in the grass behind him. There was just… nothing. The silence was really starting to get to him.

A small gust of wind blew through, turning the pages of the notebook. It shifted the leaves in the trees as newspaper scraps flew by on the asphalt. By the time the wind had ceased ruffling through his hair, the notebook was turned to a different page. A young woman, straight shoulder length hair and a determined yet soft face graced the page. Her gaze was deadly, but her mouth wore the seductive smirk that she was well known for.

"Natasha," Steve whispered, the corners of his mouth turning upwards slightly in a small smile. Just saying her name made him happier. He longed with all of his heart to see her, even though he had only been alone for two days.

He had been alone before, that wasn't what he had a problem with. It was the fact that he had no clue where he really was, or where everyone went. Steve kept telling himself that it was just Wanda's magic, that the team was taking a little bit longer to bring him back. It had happened before.

But never for this length of time. He really didn't want to be unconscious for another seventy years if he could help it.

Steve turned his attention away from his thoughts and back down to the paper. When Nat first saw the drawings, she had protested them because they were too pretty, they didn't look like the real her. There was no red in the picture other than the flames of her hair. No blood dripping out of her hands, or leaking from the spot where she always kept her knife. Steve had fired back by saying that she was beautiful inside and out, no matter about her past. They had begun another playful bantering session about cheesy lines, which Tony liked to call "mini happy couple fights". Twenty minutes after he would make that statement, his eye would start turning purple and black and Natasha's knuckles would have faded from red back to their normal skin tone.

He flipped through the notebook, every page covered with either Bucky, the Howling Commandos, Peggy, or Natasha. There were a few sketches of his teammates as well. One picture in particular that he felt very pleased with was an image of Natasha smiling, her hand bent towards her face to remove a few stray hairs that the wind had blown in front of her eyes. They were closed slightly and her mouth was open just enough that he could see the ghosts of teeth within it.

Her hands still bothered him though. He could never get them just right. The mix of elegance with the strength that could crush a hand in a second. He never found that balance.

With a shake of his head, Steve closed the notebook. He did not want her to endure the loneliness that he was, but with only one other person. But for this one time, he allowed himself to be slightly selfish and continue the dream of having her by his side.

* * *

For the next week and a half, he continued the monotonous routine. Get up after a fitful rest that was more nightmares than actual sleep, check weapons room, get on motorcycle and scour city for people, draw, go back to the tower, check if anyone had appeared, then go to sleep. He never got thirsty or hungry, and if he ever got to that point, there was no food or water around anyways. Another thing he noticed was the lack of mirrors. Even the windows refused to show any kind of reflection whatsoever. He could look out, but not at whatever was behind him in the reflection. It was mainly just the lack of human interaction that was getting to him. Ever day, the urge to talk to someone grew and grew.

He was sitting on the couch when it happened. "Steve." He whipped his head around and closed the sketchbook softly. Steve stood up, convinced that he had heard his name.

When he saw no one, those thoughts diminished. His lonely mind was simply playing tricks on him.

"Steve," the identifiably female voice said. He stepped out from around the couch and looked. When his eyes landed on her form laying behind the sofa, he dropped to his knees and scooped her up, safe in his arms. "Steve," she whispered again, mumbling his name to herself.

Steve brushed a piece of flaming hair away from her face. "Natasha," he breathed. He couldn't comprehend how, why she was here. All that mattered to him at the moment was that she was with him.

But she was pale and seemed so small in his grasp. Her lips were chapped and her hair was matted, giving the impression that she had just been in a fight. Her usually strong and stoic form looked crumpled. Broken.

At the sound of her name, Natasha's green eyes snapped open. Steve smiled as her eyes found his. The smile dissipated as her face went white and she scrambled out of his grasp.

"Who the hell are you?" she said, standing up in a defensive stance. Steve stood up slowly and put his hands up, showing that he was not a threat.

"I'm Steve," he said reassuringly.

"I want an honest answer. What kind of a game is this?" Her voice was menacing, but Steve could see the tears glistening in her eyes. If he concentrated hard enough, he could tell that she was shaking and struggling to not run away.

"I don't know what you mean, Nat."

"Don't," she hissed, "don't call me that. How are you here, no matter who you are?"

"I got here a few weeks ago. I woke up here. No one else is here, Nat. I have no idea how I got here." He replied honestly, looking into her eyes as he did so.

"Barton, Stark, your charade is up! I'm coming for your heads!" she yelled, looking around the room.

"Nat, nobody else is here." His voice was steady and calm. She was frantically looking around for some sign of the pranking duo. But there was no laughter from the air vents, or apologies from the loudspeaker. When she realized this, Steve could see her start to crumble.

"No. No, no, no," she repeated, like a mantra to herself. "You're a liar!"

"Natasha, what are you talking about?" He said the words steadily, trying to break through whatever kind of a trance she was in. Perhaps Wanda's magic had gotten loose again… "You know how bad of a liar I am. Look at me. Am I lying?"

Her gaze ghosted over his, forever searching for some sign that he was being dishonest. The signs were not hard to find, which was why she did not believe it when she found none.

"How do I know that you're not toying with me? Huh?"

"I would never, you know that. I care about you too much to mess with your mind," he replied honestly.

Tears spilled over her cheeks and she made no move to wipe them away. "You don't remember anything before waking up here?"

Steve shook his head as Natasha's eyes locked with his. "I told you, Natasha. I have no idea what's happening. No one is here and then suddenly you show up, questioning if I am actually Steve. What the hell is going on?"

Natasha took a deep breath, knowing that what she was about to say would bring his world crashing down. "Yesterday. The mission went wrong. We were shot down and the Quinjet crashed. You died, Steve."


	3. Stay With Me

**Sorry this took me so long to get up! It isn't my favorite chapter or the longest, but it moves things along. Next chapter will be very short (only around a thousand words) and will be updated in 2-3 days. After that, there is a flashback that will show everything that happened, which will be much better and longer, promise. So yeah, gameplan! Hope that you guys enjoy and feel free to provide some feedback! Big tha** **nks to all of the reviewers!**

 **I still don't own Marvel. Dang it.**

* * *

Her words hit him like an ice pick to the heart. He stumbled a little and grabbed onto the couch for support. "That can't be true," he whispered.

"You shielded me from the impact of us hitting the ground even though you were injured. I held your hand in mine and watched the light leave your eyes. I saw you die!"

Steve put a hand to his head as his breaths came in short gasps. Natasha crossed the room in a few steps and put her hand to the back of his head, which was covered in soft blonde hair, very unlike the bloody mess she had last seen. "Right here. I saw your split skull and there was nothing I could do."

"No. This is all some sort of…nightmare," he responded, trying to convince himself of the same thing. None of it was real. It had to be Wanda's magic...it had to be. He couldn't be dead...

"You bled out and died, Steve," she said sternly.

The nightmares, the bloody and smoking Quinjet, the lack of people. It all made sense.

"Damn you and your stupid self-sacrificing attitude," she muttered, looking him in the eyes. "I was completely helpless, Rogers."

"What about you?" he asked, his eyes still trained on the floor.

"They had to pull me away from you. You wouldn't let me go," she said it softly. He could almost picture men having to tear her away from his dead body. As soon as the image came to mind, he wanted it erased. "I remember… fading in and out. Then Clint was there. It's all very choppy. They wheeled me into surgery for broken ribs, a torn lung, and a nasty leg wound…" Natasha's voice trailed off. Steve put the pieces together about when she did. "I died on that operating table," she whispered. Steve looked at her vulnerable expression and pulled her into his arms. It may have been against her will, but frankly he didn't care. "I was fine a few hours ago and-"

"Time must be different here," Steve breathed into her hair. "I wanted you here with me. I longed for your touch every single day. But not like this. I never wanted these circumstances."

She was shaking in his arms as he rubbed his hands up and down her back in a calming fashion. He couldn't even imagine what she was going through.

The head wound also explained his lack of memories. Perhaps, if he had bled out from some other wound, he would have been able to recall what had happened. He wouldn't have to simply stand by and watch as she fell apart.

After holding her for a moment, Natasha began to shudder. The lights began to flicker as well. Natasha stepped back a little in surprise as she brought her hand up to her face. It was almost see through, just the ghost of the appendage that has been present mere seconds ago.

"What the hell?" she whispered. As if the day could not get more complicated. Her breath began hitching in her throat as she looked to Steve. What he saw in her eyes was fear.

The gears in his mind began to turn. The lights, her shimmering form, how she had been on an operating table. "They must be trying to bring you back. Natasha, you have to go."

"No! I can't leave you here alone," Natasha retaliated as her skin began to turn more peachy and the lights returned to their normal on state. "I already left you once. I sure as hell am not leaving you again. Not here, by yourself."

Steve took her gently by the shoulders, his steely blue eyes looking into her vivid green ones. So much of their relationship relied on eye contact, as if they could see each others thoughts through gazes and flashes across the room. "I got to see you again. I will be fine. At least now I don't have to wonder about where I am. Go live your life, Natasha, they need you." Each word he said seemed to pierce his soul. Of course he wanted to be with her, but not under these circumstances. He didn't want to be the singular reason why she stayed dead.

Clint and the rest of the team needed her. He could not be responsible for her never making it back to them. Lila and Cooper and Nathaniel would lose their Auntie Nat because of him, and he was not about to let that happen.

"Natasha, you will survive. I'll see you again, but in a long time. Promise me that."

"You know I can't make that kind of a promise, Steve," she whispered.

He took her hands in his and responded, "then try your best."

Something like tears began to glaze over her eyes again, but Steve told himself it was just because she was beginning to disappear again. "Damn it Rogers. Who knew the man out of time could turn me into a child?" Her smirk, although only half genuine, made Steve smile.

"Who knew that you would ever take orders from an old man," he laughed breathlessly. "Go, Natasha," Steve insisted again.

Natasha nodded, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. "Don't get too bored, Steve."

Steve's hands fell slack at his sides. She was gone.

* * *

The light was blinding. She blinked her eyes slowly as the world came into focus. Yelling flooded her ears and a dull pain began to reside in her left leg. Ever single breath she took as if she had been stabbed. She moved her head slightly to make sure that there was in fact no knife sticking grotesquely out of her ribs.

"Natasha, stay with us," a voice ordered.

She turned slowly, her blood-crusted hair getting caught on the torn leather of her black catsuit that had become sticky and dark red with her blood. A steady flow of cool air was going into her mouth from an oxygen mask that was affixed over her head. As she breathed in and out, small spots of fog showed up on the mask. Clint was holding her hand with a light grasp. A pained expression was set upon his face.

"Steve," Natasha whispered, voice muffled through the mask. She could see him, right in front of her. Staring at her with his ice blue eyes, as if she were the only person in the world.

But he was dead, she knew that. Then why did she feel as if she had just seen him? Spoken to him? "Where's Steve?"

"Sh, don't talk. Nat, he's gone, you know that."

"Scalpel," one of the doctors ordered, followed by a chink of metal. They looked to Clint as he talked to Natasha. "Are you sure that you should be in here? The waiting room is right outside-"

"Let me stop you there. If you want me out, you will have to man handle me out of this room and then you can have more operations to perform," Clint threatened. The doctors quickly looked the other way and continued their work.

"I thought I saw him," she stated, trying to make her earlier point clear.

"You've lost a lot of blood, Natasha. You scared me. A minute ago, you flatlined."

Natasha bit back a wince as she felt the bones in her leg move. Spots danced in front of her eyes even through the heavy anesthetic as the doctor pulled out what appeared to be a large piece of shrapnel. Or bone. At this point, she really had no idea. The serum did a good job of keeping her alive, but that fact worked two ways. Sure, she was alive, but anesthetic only worked in large quantities for so long. "We need an X-ray table," one of the doctor mentioned and a nurse practically flew out the door.

"We need another transfusion bag!" a different nurse yelled, sending the room into a higher state of chaos. Clint's grip on her hand tightened.


	4. Not as Alone

**New chapter! This one is super short and I don't feel that good about it, so please forgive me. The next chapter will be so much better and longer, I swear. It will be the flashback of what led up to Steve being dead. I am currently working on it and will get it up ASAP. Meanwhile, I hope that you guys are okay with this filler chapter. If there are any questions, feel free to PM me or put them in a review, and I will gladly answer them.**

 **Shoutout to Sportsfan64, Baibe, Idril of the Mountains, and CottonCandy for reviewing!**

 **In response to CottonCandy's review: Yes, Steve is dead permanently. Sorry about that :( The next chapter will show how it all happened.**

 **I don't own anything Marvel.**

* * *

Steve sat on the couch, sketchbook in his lap, pencil in his fingers, but his hand was still. He couldn't get over seeing her. He would wait, no matter how long it took, so that she would not have to endure the same loneliness that he was. It was his job to make sure that she was okay, and he would complete that task, no matter how long it took.

He noticed a soft pinging, almost unrecognizable, sound a few minutes later. A few floors up, the elevator was dinging. With a sigh, Steve got up, wondering if the elevator was malfunctioning. It opened for him and he got in just fine. The first floor above his was normal, so he pressed the next button up.

On the second floor up, a noise caught his attention. Steve advanced with caution, feeling naked without his shield, which he had left back on his floor.

"Hello?" he called to the seemingly empty floor. When no one answered, he took a few more steps into the large room. His mind was playing tricks with him. All of the time alone and he was simply hearing things. Then he saw it.

A blonde head poked out from the doorframe leading into the bedroom. "Who's there?" the young man asked with a very heavy accent. A familiar one.

"I could ask you the same thing," Steve replied and walked closer, still unsure about who the man was behind the door.

"I didn't see this coming," the guy laughed when he lay eyes on Steve. He stepped out from the door and wrapped his arms around the super soldier, taking him by surprise until Steve returned the hug.

"It's good to see you, Pietro."

When Steve stepped back, he realized that there were no crimson holes in Pietro's uniform. He still wore the blue suit that Tony had enhanced, but it was in pristine condition. The kid's hair was still blonde, not tainted with blood. His eyes were full of life. He looked nothing like what Steve had last seen him; when he carried his dead and bleeding form onto the rescue boat.

He had stepped back and watched as Wanda wailed over his body when they got back on board the helicarrier. He found that he had no words, no explanation, for the death of her twin.

There had been no funeral. Fury didn't want any unnecessary press and Wanda couldn't bear seeing Pietro being lowered into the ground. Steve never saw him again after the helicarrier and had no idea what happened to his body.

"Where is everyone? I've been all around the city, but no one else is here. I've run as far as neighboring cities also, but it is all vacant. Where is Wanda?" he asked innocently. Something in his voice suggested the he didn't know what Steve knew. "We have to find them. They need our help to defeat Ultron." Pietro's eyes caught Steve's sad ones. "What?"

Steve took a deep breath. "What is the last thing you remember?"

"I pushed Clint and a young boy out of the line of fire. He said something and I responded, but it was all fuzzy. But then there was blackness. Sometimes it happens after I run too much and need a breather. But the I ended up here. Did they bring me back to their home for rest?"

"Pietro, this is going to be hard to understand. You shielded Clint and that little boy. You died saving their lives."

"What?" he asked.

"Ultron hijacked a Quinjet and began opening fire on anyone still left in the city. Clint had gone back to save a little boy stranded in the rubble, but they were in the line of fire. You pushed them both out of the way, but the bullets were too fast and you couldn't save yourself. I'm so sorry."

"Dead?" he whispered, to both himself and Steve. It wasn't possible. He had to potent his little sister. She needed him. Steve nodded solemnly in response.

Pietro's eyes glazed over. "Is Wanda alright? I left her alone. I promised her that I would come back."

"She is actually the one that killed Ultron. Physically, she is fine, but she has been quieter than usual," Steve replied honestly. He didn't add in the fact that she woke up most nights screaming Pietro's name. Her floor was between Steve's and Clint's. Sometimes one of them would go and see if she was alright. Other times, both of them would be there to console her.

In rare occasions when they were both on separate missions, Natasha took over the mantle. Over time, her screaming decreased. It was possible that the nightmares became less intense. Or she didn't want to bother them any more. Both were possible.

The second one applied to Steve more than the first. All of them had nightmares. But he was the only one that never screamed out. Whenever Wanda did, someone helped. Talking to her, making tea, sitting in silence, listening to stories about her past with Pietro.

Steve didn't want to add to the feelings of guilt that were slowly creeping over the boy.

"And why are you here? Are you dead too?" Steve nodded. Pietro pushed his hair away from his face with a slightly shaking hand. "Then why haven't you gone?"

"Excuse me?" Steve asked, not understanding what Pietro meant.

Pietro pointed up. Steve knew that he was not talking about the ceiling. "That must be why I'm stuck here. I can't go without Wanda. I can't leave without knowing that we will eventually be together. I can't completely break my promise. Are you waiting for someone?" Pietro snapped his fingers and smirked. "The flame haired assassin."

Was it really that obvious that even Pietro could pick up on it from his limited time on the team? Even with the "romance" Natasha had going on with Banner? Steve smirked to himself.

"I guess so. At least we have a little company. Hopefully we won't see them for a long time."

Pietro nodded. He seemed to be taking the fact that he was dead fairly well. "Yeah. I'm going to think on some things for a little while. I'll see you on the communal floor later."

Steve nodded and placed a gentle hand on Pietro's shoulder. "Take it easy, kid."

"Don't overexert yourself, old man."


	5. End of the Line

**I am so happy to finally be able to post this chapter. I have had it in my mind for a while now and hope that it turns out okay. Big thanks to DreamEscape1675, Sportsfan63, Idril of the Mountains, and CottonCandy for reviewing! Thanks to everyone for reading and hope that you like it! In case it isn't clear, this entire chapter is a flashback of what happened.**

 **I don't own anything Marvel related.**

* * *

 _Flashback_

 _The cabin began to pressurize as the Quinjet lifted into the air, traveling quickly away from the base, bound for another HYDRA splinter cell that had popped up. Steve, Natasha, and their five man team was prepping to easily take down the small safe-house. No long range guns, probably only about twenty agents. It would hopefully be an easy night._

 _"_ _So, you found a date yet?" Natasha asked nonchalantly as she loaded her gun. She was the only person that Steve knew who could talk about normal, human things, while loading a gun and still looking like she could flip you in no time flat._

 _Steve smiled as he attached his own loaded gun to his holster. Even after the Ultron battle, Natasha was dead set on finding him a date._ _"Actually, yes. I'm taking her out tonight after the mission." He reveled in the surprised look that crossed Natasha's face. It was quickly replaced by her calm exterior, but Steve could see the hint of disappointment in her eyes. Maybe even jealousy. But the spy knew how to hide her feelings well. Sometimes, however, Steve could see through the mask that she so expertly wore over her features._

 _"_ _Oh really, Cap. Who's the lucky lady?"_

 _Steve shrugged._ _"A colleague from work." That was more casual than saying special government agent. "I was thinking of taking her down to this older bar downtown."_

 _Natasha smiled a little._ _"I'm happy for you, Steve. Is it Sharon?"_

 _Steve shook his head._ _"Nah. Dating Peggy's niece would be a little awkward I think." He watched her brow scrunch in confusion and he decided to drop one more hint. "Besides, the bar is best known for all of the different types of vodka that they serve. I'm more of a bourbon guy myself, but I'm always up for trying something new. I don't think Sharon is a big fan of vodka anyways."_

 _Natasha smirked, trying to hide it from Steve. He was being so obvious that it was almost painful to watch. At least he was trying and improving_ _…somewhat. "How can she be there if you haven't asked her yet?"_

 _"_ _I just did." It became harder for Natasha to hide her smile so she dipped her head._

 _"_ _Smooth, Rogers. Looks like your 40's charm is finally helping you out." She patted his shoulder a few times before continuing. "Although, you could be just a little bit less obvious."_

 _The Quinjet began descending as soon as Natasha started strapping on her parachute._

 _"_ _We have a visual of the base," the pilot conveyed to the rest of the team._

 _"_ _There's no water for you to jump into, Steve. Sure you don't want a parachute?" Natasha held out one to him._

 _He took it with a sheepish smile._ _"Now, I was going to jump into a tall tree, but seeing as I have a date, that may not be the smartest idea. I had better try to stay a little safe. It isn't too far down anyways."_

 _Natasha decided to not mention Peggy, as it was still a very touchy subject._ _"Try to not become a target, Steve. Your shield makes the perfect bullseye."_

 _"_ _Says the one with a blue light up suit," he fired back._

 _Even in the dark of the Quinjet, with the rest of the team undoubtedly listening, both the soldier and the spy playfully bantered back and forth for the next few minutes. However, the dark and somewhat happy environment began to dissipate as a red light began flashing on and off._

 _"_ _Talk to me!" Steve ordered, walking up to the cockpit, the parachute dropping by his boots._

 _"_ _Antiaircraft guns pointed straight at us. We need to go, Cap."_

 _Steve mentally cursed, knowing what Natasha_ _'s reaction would be if she heard him using foul language, even if it wasn't a fraction of the vulgar language that he often heard coming from Tony's lab at three in the morning. He would still never hear the end of it. They were not prepared for this situation._

 _"_ _I thought the base had been scanned for weapons," Natasha chimed in from the hull._

 _"_ _It was," the pilot reported._

 _"_ _Then those idiots had better pack up their things and start running for the hills before I get back," she muttered._

 _"_ _Descend. Everyone else, prepare for exit! Parachutes on and secured!" Steve yelled. His parachute lay on the ground at his feet as he helped Natasha secure hers. They could still bail out, but if the jet got hit, at least her back would have some protection. The Quinjet began to swerve to miss the bullets that were being fired into the air. The back ramp of the jet opened and the five men began jumping out, their black parachutes opening into the night._

 _A shot hit the one of the Quinjet engines, sending it dipping viscously to the right. Both Steve and Natasha lost their balance and tumbled around the metal hull filled with various crates and metal benches. The last agent staggered out of the falling airplane. His screams were heard over the gunfire as the bullets connected with his body._

 _The pilots began to lose control of the aircraft as shells began making contact with the glass windshield. Steve was thrown violently to the other side as the Quinjet pitched left and made a complete roll before steadying right side up again._

 _Halfway through the roll, the back of his head connected with one corners of the metal railings before being thrown to the floor as the jet righted itself. His vision darkened as pain laced through his entire body. He let out a yell as his body came crashing down to the ground, his arm bent awkwardly and painfully under him. Steve felt warm liquid begin to pour down the back of his neck, soaking the collar of his uniform._

 _Spots darkened his vision and he could hear his heart pounding in his chest. But that was nothing compared to the screaming in his head that was not ceasing. It was if his skull had been trampled, lit of fire, and filled with glass. It was excruciating._

 _"_ _Steve!" Natasha yelled over the sound of gunfire and faltering engines. She had been curled into one of the corners of the jet, saving herself from being injured when it rolled. He felt her come to his side and try to position herself so that neither of them would move as the Quinjet continued to spiral out of control._

 _Steve wanted to get up, protect her with his shield against the crash that would come, but his body would not obey him. The most he could do aside from staying awake was lazily blink his eyes. Through the open door, he could see the ground getting steadily closer. As the Quinjet struggled to stay upright with one engine, trees began snapping under the heavy metal beast that was descending at a dangerous rate from the sky._

 _He wanted to tell her to jump out, to save herself. Not stay back because he was injured. But he couldn_ _'t find the right words._

 _With a grunt of effort, drawing on reserves of strength that he didn't know he had, Steve fought through the pain in his head and grabbed the shield from his back. He pulled Natasha in close to him and lowered the shield around her. It wasn't much, but it would offer her head and neck some protection. His breathing blocked out all of the sounds of the falling Quinjet._

 _"_ _You are not leaving me," Natasha ordered as she curled up closer to Steve, desperately trying to not think about the red stain in the back of his uniform that she could see even in the blinking red light._

 _"_ _Brace for impact!" the pilot yelled. Steve's grip on Natasha tightened as he fought against the unconscious feeling growing in his mind._

 _A few seconds after the warning, the Quinjet shuddered again as more trees broke in its wake. The engines and the nose of the craft plowed into the ground. Debris began flying through the open door as it crossed the forested area._

 _His hands suddenly gave out and she slipped away from him, trying to tuck in on herself as the Quinjet continued to plow down everything in its wake. Steve heard Natasha cry out in pain, but could not do anything about it. His head jostled painfully against the metal floor. He had never been shot in the head, but he imagined that this was about what it would feel like. His limbs went numb and she slipped from his grasp, tucking in on herself as she was thrown around the hull. Steve was helpless to do anything._

 _Finally, a large boulder in the ground brought the Quinjet to an abrupt halt, making Steve_ _'s head crack again in a way that he knew could not be good. He could hear the bones shifting; it was the only sound that filled his mind other than the screaming pain._

 _The air was heavy with smoke and Steve_ _'s ears rang. He half expected his brain to be lying somewhere amid the destruction. He could hear Natasha a few feet away, which was good, but she sounded like she was in pain. She was suffering because he let her go. Because he wasn_ _'_ _t strong enough to hold on and protect her. All he wanted to do was get up and move to her, to help her with whatever was causing her pain._

 _But he couldn't move._

 _Natasha groaned as she moved, fire flaring up in her leg. She looked down at it and quickly turned her gaze away when she saw the fragmented white bone sticking grotesquely out of her black suit. In the spiral down, her leg had been thrust into one of the metal crates with a terrible cracking sound. All of Tony_ _'s stupid inventions and he couldn't come up with something less dangerous than sharp, metal crates?_

 _The parachute that was stuck to her back had saved her spine from injury when Steve_ _'s grip on her lessened. His hands were holding her securely one second, and the next his hands went limp and she slid out of his grasp, the shield doing nothing to stop her from moving._

 _Her lungs, however, were worse for wear. Natasha cursed as she tried to sit up, ignoring the cracking sounds that her ribs made at first, but then decided that it was best to lie back down. Judging by the rattling in her chest and the way she wheezed with each breath, she had a pierced lung. Not only had the metal container decided to make her leg immobile, it had also decided to mess up her lungs. Great._

 _"_ _Crap," she muttered under her breath and turned over to lay eyes on Steve. Getting all of her weight off of the mangled limb, she crawled her way to him, biting back screams of pain the entire way. She pulled his shield out of his hand and set it beside him. He was laying in a pool of blood. It was matted and stuck to his golden hair. Even in the dim light, she knew that it was bad. His blue eyes were open, blinking slowly as shaky breaths were taken into and out of his lungs. But they were too shallow. It was a miracle that he was still breathing at all._

 _"_ _Steve," she whispered. Knowing that it was best to not move him, she stretched out beside him, not moving her bad leg, and gingerly lay down so that her face was next to his. She reached for his hand and held it in both of hers. "You are going to be okay." She gingerly moved his hand so that she could feel his pulse. Afterwards, she almost wished that she hadn't. It was too slow, too soft. There was no way that he could remain alive with it for much longer._

 _The medical kit was up in the cockpit, with the most likely dead pilot. There was no way that she was leaving him, and she was in no shape to be moving around anyways. Natasha was ignoring the dizziness that clawed at her vision. Steve needed her, and she would not let him down._

 _Steve blinked in response. His mouth felt too rubbery to move. His head was screaming in agony._

 _"_ _Blink twice if you can hear me," Natasha said as her hands began nervously massaging his one. Steve blinked twice, much to Natasha's slight relief. She bit back a cry as her lungs took in another painful breath. She could see Steve eyeing her and knew exactly what he would say. "I'm fine," she said to the question that he had not been able to ask. His eyes began to un-focus and Natasha moved one of her hands to gingerly cup his face. The skin under her fingers was soft and wet with blood._

 _She contemplated sliding off the parachute pack to place under his head, but she didn_ _'t want to move him. Her arms rotating would probably also make her lungs worse, and she could not afford to fall unconscious._

 _"_ _Eyes on me, soldier. We have a date," Natasha reminded him. Tears began to cloud her vision as his bloodstained lips tried to form words. She would be damned if she let him miss a second date._

 _"_ _Sorry," he whispered so softly that she had to strain to hear it._

 _"_ _Don't be," Natasha replied. "We'll get out of here. The team is probably already on their way. Just hang on." She could tell that he was struggling. The growing pool of crimson beneath his head was enough to prove it. He no doubt had other injuries as well, but she was too scared to try and look him over to find them._

 _Natasha knew that she would faint if she looked at her leg, which was undoubtedly surrounded by its own pool of blood. She had to be there for Steve. So she did what he did best, put his injuries before her own._

 _He had gotten hurt on so many missions, some of them head wounds, and had always shaken them off until the mission was over. Even with broken bones, he would still fuss over her and make sure that her scrapes were nothing too bad before getting himself medical help._

 _He was so selfless sometimes it made her sick. But she wouldn't trade that characteristic for the world._

 _But Natasha knew that this time was different. Seeing him lying on the ground, unmoving, utterly helpless, scared her. He may not be up and fighting, but she knew that in the mental fight, he was struggling to win. Natasha squeezed his hand, a gesture to which he blinked slowly. That was all he could do._

 _Natasha allowed herself to imagine a world where agents flooded the jet. They picked him up and immediately attended to him. Her leg was fixed, and she sat by his bed, day in and day out, waiting for him to recover. He eventually did and they would share a life together._

 _But dreams were for children. This was real life, and it sucked. It hurt like a thousand hot knives in her leg, chest, and soul. His eyes were focused on the ceiling, not even having the strength to turn them to look at her one last time._

 _She knew the exact moment when he lost the fight. Not another blink, or whispered word, or pained breath. His mind was blank and dark._

 _Sorry was the last word that he had ever spoken. It had been in pain, in guilt, because his already broken body had been not strong enough to protect her one last time. This realization made her heart shatter. Why did he always have to be so damn selfless?_

 _The dream kept moving. Steve saw everything that happened after he died. It was if he were now watching a play that was taking place, where he was the nameless spectator watching everything crumble around him. He saw Natasha try to form words, to beg him not to leave her, that help was coming, but she only began coughing, blood flecking her lips. She did not let go of his hand._

 _Natasha never closed Steve_ _'s eyes. She kept staring into the unfocused blue irises, willing for him to show some signs of life. He could see her wavering, fighting to stay conscious amid the blood that soaked through her uniform. Mixed with his, the substance coated the floor of the Quinjet. It was only after fifteen minutes, when the rescuers pulled Steve away from her, that his eyes were closed. They had to tug him from her grasp. His hand was still clamped tightly around hers, eyes staring off into wherever he had gone. The men had to physically pry his stiff fingers from around her wrist._

 _He could see that it was the breaking point for her. As soon as his eyes were closed and his hand was off of her, she succumbed to unconsciousness._

 _End flashback_


	6. Gone

**Sorry about the long wait! I took off a little time from writing to do other random stuff ;) Here's the next chapter! Hope that you all enjoy! Sorry about any Natasha OOCness, but I did try.**

 **On a side note, I just finished watching Jessica Jones. It was a great show, but I personally liked Daredevil more. Anyone have thoughts on this? Also, who has seen the Civil War trailer?! All of the feels already. How are we supposed to handle a two hour movie when the fandom can't take two minutes?**

 **Thank you to Sportsfan64, DreamEscape1675, and guest for reviewing on the previous chapter!**

 **I don't own anything, obviously. I did use some quotes from "Age of Ultron" in this story, and they belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended and they are used to further the story and for fun.**

* * *

He did not wake up screaming, which was strange. His eyes still snapped open, but he lay still in his bed among the cold sheets. Steve didn't need sleep either, but it was something that helped to keep him sane. To go into a bed at night and rise when the sun came up, even though there was no point.

Steve pushed himself up and ran a hand through his hair. He could almost feel the gash in his skull, the blood soaking into his uniform. He padded up to the elevator mindlessly, bound for the communal floor, unknowing that the man occupying the floor a few stories up was dealing with his own demons.

* * *

 _Pietro ran up to Wanda, breathless as he took out another robot._

 _"_ _Get the people on the boats," Wanda ordered. Her strong tone took him by surprise._

 _"_ _I'm not going to leave you," Pietro fired back. He had a promise to keep. If they were going down, they would do so together, as they always had._

 _"_ _I can handle this," she replied, a burst of red magic flowing from her fingertips to destroy another robot. Pietro shrugged, trying to brush off the fact that she was able to handle herself in this situation mainly without his help. In their home, this was alien territory to him. He knew how strong she was, but he still refused to accept how independent she had become. She would always be his little sister. "Come back for me when everyone else is off, not before. Do you understand?"_

 _Her tone reminded him of their mother, scolding them whenever they were late getting home, or tracked mud onto the fraying carpet._ _"You know, I'm twelve minutes older than you," Pietro joked as Wanda became the one giving him orders._

 _"_ _Go," Wanda replied with a smile on her face. With her red jacket flapping in the wind, dirt under her determined eyes, Pietro willingly decided, for the first time, to leave her._

 _He ran around the city, his city, saving civilians, trying to not dwell on the places that dug up too many old memories. The market where they would buy groceries, the cobblestone hills that they would race down. The shingled roofs where they would sit sometimes in the cool night air, watching the stars._

 _All of it had been reduced to rubble in a matter of hours. Soon it would all cease to exist at all. Sokovia would become a mere memory to the people that had once inhabited it, if they even survived. He ran faster._

 _When he heard the gun go off, piercing the silence that graced the city for the first time that day, he knew he had to do something. His head whipped around and caught sight of the Quinjet, which was firing rounds mercilessly into the ground. Clint was right in the line of those rounds, protectively holding a boy to his chest, not unlike the one he had waiting for him back at home that one of the team members had told him about earlier. His eyes were determined as he turned around so that his back was facing the barrage of bullets instead of the boy._

 _Without even thinking, Pietro ran forward with no regard for his own life. He pushed them both out of the way and was prepared to run to safety himself, but a horrible pain stopped him where he stood. More bullets tore through him. Every part of his body was set ablaze in an instant. He felt the soft and moveable fabric soon become wet as it absorbed the blood, turning the blue material a dark purple. It burned and pierced and tore, like a thousand hot needles slowly ripping him apart. It was almost as painful as the experiments had been._

 _The Quinjet flew by and the smoke began to lift. Pietro felt Clint_ _'s eyes on him. Even more, he felt Wanda's sudden pain and worry. But Clint and the boy were safe, and that was all that mattered. Pietro's hands were still stretched out in the motion of pushing the two of them behind an overturned car to safety._

 _"_ _You didn't see that coming," Pietro said as Clint's face became a mix of confusion, worry, and most of all, sadness._

 _All of Pietro_ _'s muscles seemed to give out at once as he crashed to the debris ridden ground below. He could feel the line that connected him and Wanda begin to tighten like a rubber band._

 _"_ _Wanda." The broken promise. The oath that he had given himself after the shell obliterated their house and their parents. The oath to protect her and be there for her no matter what. To protect her even when she didn't need it._

 _The word that was his entire world. It died on his lips as everything went black as the bond that had connected them for so long finally snapped._

 _It was there for a second and then gone the very next. It was intense agony. It was pain. It was excruciating. It was... It was..._

 _Lonely. Dark. Peaceful._

* * *

The next morning, both men were shaken and silent. Thank goodness the TV still worked, or they would have been bored out of their minds. Steve had no use for the TV earlier, it brought back too many memories from when Natasha had tried to educate him on modern day culture.

But now, he was using it in the same way she had; to show Pietro many great American films. Steve stayed away from war films, although there were some great ones, but he didn't like the way many of them portrayed the war itself. So they stuck to sci-fi and comedy, both of them both desperately trying to forget about the predicament that they were in.

* * *

Natasha lay on the operating table for three hours, shifting in and out of conscience-ness at random intervals, but Clint's hands on hers were always a steady comfort. Once she arrived at the medical ward, Clint was already there and waiting for her. Even at 2am, the dead of night, he was not letting her brave the fight alone. However, the struggle was that whenever she awoke, to not let her eyes drift to the bloody rags that kept coming from her leg.

Her shattered femur had severed a major artery and poked a hole in another vein. Not to mention the torn muscle and bone that had yet to be set back together. Whenever the doctors got the bone back to its original place more or less, the pieces would slide back apart, causing Natasha extreme pain.

Her breathing was being helped by a machine, monitoring her heart and punctured lung carefully. Natasha's enhanced body was holding the lung together and it had yet to start filling with fluid, so the doctors were still working on her leg, which continued to bleed profusely.

Her thoughts drifted back to Steve, selflessly waiting for her. It would be so easy to just let go, to go against all of her training to stay alive under the most intense conditions. Even now, she could feel her grasp on life slipping.

Clint's grip on her hand tightened as her green eyes flashed open. Something in her leg moved, and it felt worse than the previous movements had. The strong painkillers were no match for the serum, which had started burning through the numbing effect that the painkillers had provided. A tear slipped out of her eye as a groan escaped her still bloodied and chapped lips.

"The painkillers are wearing off. Can't you give her more?" Clint impatiently asked the doctors. _"She's suffering,"_ he wanted to say, but he knew that Natasha would not take too kindly to that statement, injured or not, no matter how much it may be true.

"I'm sorry, we can't. There's too much in her system already. We can administer more in about an hour," a nurse wearing light blue scrubs informed the both of them.

Clint let out a hot, frustrated breath that touched Natasha's cheek. Looking down, he quickly wiped the stray tear from her face with a careful finger before anyone else could see it.

Something shifted again and sent a terrible spike of pain traveling throughout Natasha's entire body. She was not prepared for it, and her sharp intake of breath from a loud gasp had her sitting up and coughing within seconds. Her body lurched up from the table, lungs struggling for the air that she could not get. The heart monitor started going haywire as her injured lungs moved, causing even more pain as her unrelenting coughing worsened.

"Lay her back down!" she heard a nurse yell. Clint's hands were on her shoulders, trying gently yet forcefully to push her back down to the table, but the coughs kept her up. She scrambled to find his hand, the one thing that kept her calm, as flecks of blood from her lungs appeared on the inside of the oxygen mask. She had seen plenty of blood before, but the fact that it was coming from her lungs scared her. Something was majorly wrong. Each cough out got only half a breath back in as dizziness started to set in.

Clint tore the oxygen mask from her face so that she was not breathing in bloody air as he lay her back down on the table. Once she was back down, he grabbed her hand before she could grab his and looked to her with soft eyes. In his eyes was not just pain, it was fear.

She was weak. She wanted out. For one of the first times in her life, she was ready to willingly give up the fight if it meant this hellish nightmare would come to a close.

Continuing the fight was everything she had ever learned and stood for. But as she continued to cough, crimson drops appearing on the towel that a nurse now held in front of her mouth, Natasha knew that it was over.

Clint eyed her in the same nervous fashion, feeling out of place, scared, not knowing what to do other than to hold her hand as her body shook. Once the coughing finally subsided, he could see it in her ashen face that she was done. "Go," he whispered, leaning in close to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Tell Steve I said hey."

Natasha nodded, grateful that he understood. A wave of guilt began to crush her as she realized that her damaged lungs would not let her speak. They would not let her utter her last words to the man that had saved her life countless times. To the man that had stitched her up after a fight and held her hand while she endured the pain. A man that she did exactly the same thing for. She would never be able to tell him goodbye.

But he could see it in her eyes as more tears fell onto her pale cheeks. Doctors and nurses worked frantically to try and save the spy, whom without their knowledge, had already given up.

The moment that Natasha knew that she had a heart for sure was when its painful pumping finally ceased in her chest.


	7. The Black Sky

**I am so sorry about this late update! I had a lot of tests and was gone all of last weekend. I planned to post yesterday, but the motum (no idea how to spell it) broke, so we had no wifi at my house for five days.**

 **Anyways, I plan for this to be the final chapter. BUT: I do have ideas for an alternate ending. So if you want to see/read that, please leave a review to let me know! I may also do a short spin off that follows the ending of this one. It would be an AU with the scenario that I describe. You'll see. So if you would like to see either of those, PLEASE LET ME KNOW!**

 **Thank you to every single person that had read, favorited, followed, and reviewed this story. It means so much to me and I owe you guys a lot for sticking with this :)**

 **Don** **'t worry, I have many more stories planned (hoping to post two happy ones this month), so you'll see me soon enough. Until then, thank you sooooooooo much for reading. If you could leave a review letting me know if you liked this ending, that would be absolutely amazing!**

 **(if you're super excited for Star Wars, raise your hand) *raises both at once and shouts ME!***

 **I don** **'t own the Avengers. You guys should know this by now.**

* * *

It was Pietro that found Natasha. Later that day, after watching many movies, he and Steve had gone out for their daily recon. That was when Pietro noticed a human form lying on the asphalt.

He ran over to her, immediately recognizing her flaming hair, even though she was dressed in blue jeans with a gray and black striped hoodie. She looked small and crumpled on the pavement, like a downed bird.

Pietro picked her up gently and when she did not move or make a sound, he sped back to the tower.

Steve had just gotten back to the tower from his own recon and was putting his motorcycle away when he heard a muffled yell. He quickly got into the elevator and went up to the communal floor.

* * *

"Steve!" he heard his name being yelled by the kid.

"Pietro?" Steve called. The kid appeared out of nowhere in a fast blue streak, only a little out of breath. Steve held in a gasp when he saw what Pietro had found.

"I found her in the street and brought her here," Pietro explained.

"No," Steve whispered, looking at Natasha lying limp in Pietro's arms. "Lay her on the couch." Pietro did as he was told and stepped back, not knowing what to do next. He would have gotten water for her, but since there was none, he just stood there awkwardly waiting for something to happen.

Steve sat absolutely still on the side of the couch next to her. Gingerly, he took her warm hand in his own, his eyes never leaving her still features.

Both men were absolutely still for the next half hour, waiting for any signs of movement from the spy. Eventually day turned to night and Pietro left for the floor that he had designated his upon entering the tower. Steve sat on the couch with the motionless Natasha for another hour. After that time, he slid onto the couch with her, their hands still interlocked, and let sleep take him.

* * *

The first thing she noticed when her eyes lazily opened was the change in scenery. She was no longer lying on a cold medical table, staring up at the unforgiving white lights. Instead she was layer flat on a couch, her right side warm. But something was off. As she turned her head slightly, a familiar pain erupted in her lungs. Her mouth opened to gasp for breath, but nothing happened. A fire had been set inside her ribs and nothing could quench the flames that threatened to burn her from the inside out.

Natasha focused on trying to forget the pain. She took shaky breaths inside and out, doing everything in her power to keep the rest of her body from the same shaking. Her limbs felt like rubber as the fire began to go out and she once again regained control of herself.

The last thing she remembered was choking in staggered breaths as the doctors tried to save her life.

Crap.

She moved her head again, slower this time, grateful for the absence of chest pain, and found her skull to be resting against something warm and soft, which moved steadily under her. Still unable to move most of her body as if she had been drugged very heavily, Natasha nudged her head under his arm.

Steve's blue eyes snapped open, a sight that gave her immediate comfort. He looked to his side, where Natasha was leaned up against him. His eyes widened in shock of seeing her curious green ones, but he managed to crack a bittersweet smile.

"Hey, Nat," he whispered, tilting his large frame against her smaller one. It was no secret that he was happy to see her, but guilt washed over him when he realized that she had died because he had not done his job well enough.

As feeling began to creep back into her arms in pins and needles, Natasha reached up a hand to brush Steve's hair out of his face. She knew the guilty look in his eyes, one that she had seen too many times before.

"I swear, if you pin this on yourself, I will kill you again and then we can see where you end up." Her dry, unused voice cracked slightly as the joke flowed past her lips. "Don't you dare say that you are sorry. You did everything you possibly could."

Steve smiled, a blush creeping into his cheeks. "Yes, ma'am. It's good to see you, Natasha." He quickly closed his mouth before the 'sorry' could slip out.

"Likewise," she replied. Steve slid off the couch, leaving room for Natasha to get off. She pushed herself into a seated position, but her legs were just starting to return to their normal state. As pain seared in her leg from where her shattered bone had been, Natasha pushed it down, knowing that it would end. She was the Black Widow, and she was not letting her tired legs stop her from standing.

She forced herself to stand up. However, her balance was still off, causing her to fumble. Steve's strong and steady hands gripped her arms at the elbows in an effort to keep her from falling over. She mumbled a quiet 'thanks' as she regained her footing and Steve's hands dropped away awkwardly at his sides.

Not knowing what else to do, Natasha wrapped her arms around him, grateful for the familiar sense that washed over. In an instant, his large, strong hands had enveloped her back and they were pulled closer together. He breathed in the scent of her hair, lightly smelling of vanilla, making him feel safe. She sighed in his arms, releasing all of the pent up worry and fear that her soul had carried.

She was here, safe in the super-soldier's arms. Dead or not, that was all she wanted. Her head rested in the nook of his shoulder.

They broke away from their hug to the sound of the elevator chiming. Natasha turned around, not expecting the elevator to go off all of a sudden. "What's going on?" she asked, voicing her confusion.

"Ah, the sleeping assassin wakes," Pietro said as he walked onto the floor, his hair rumpled from sleep but a grin on his face.

Steve smiled, realizing that he forgot to tell Natasha about their not-so-dead house guest.

"Pietro," Natasha whispered.

"Hello, Natasha," he replied, coming forward to greet her. "Long time, no see."

"How are you here?" she asked, confused.

Pietro shrugged. "I'm waiting for Wanda. Can't leave without her."

Steve responded to Natasha's look by saying, "heaven, hell, whatever is beyond the beyond."

"Yes. I am sorry that you ended up here, but it is nice that you two are together," Pietro said with a genuine smile. "I'm headed up to my floor. See you around, Steve." It was obvious by his tone of voice that he never expected to see Steve again. It was a mixture of sadness because he would miss the captain and he would be alone, but also happiness because he and Natasha would finally be free.

* * *

The rest of the day passed, and the soldier and the spy spent it in each other's arms. They watched the afternoon roll by and the sun set over the desolate city. The sky was set on fire and then consumed by the black, spotted depth of space.

"It's been a good life," Natasha whispered, breaking the silence for the first time in hours.

"That it has been. Hard and crappy sometimes, but mostly good. We did a lot of good," he replied, watching the remnants of the sunset disappear beyond the skyscrapers.

"Where do we go from here?" Natasha turned her head up from his shoulder to look him in the eyes.

Steve shrugged. "Wherever's next. But I'm fine going as long as I'm with you."

"And the rest of the team?"

"We'll see them again, I'm sure. Not even death can keep the Avengers apart," Steve smiled slightly.

"How can you be so sure?" she asked.

"I'm not. But I am confident that somehow, somewhere, someday, we will all see each other again. It'll be in a tower, during a party. A business one perhaps. We'll all work in the same office. Tony will be the head honcho, Clint will be the salesperson that is an acrobat on the side. Bruce'll be the smart head of finances downstairs. Thor will be the one that just moved from a foreign country and has to learn everything, but is the sweetest person ever."

"And us?"

"We'll be the two on opposite sides of the cubicle. We'll pretend not to notice the looks we send each other, but something will eventually happen. I'd be shy and have no idea how to talk to women, and you would know everything and be extremely cunning. We'll be happy, live a life away from saving the world. All six of us, and we may not even know it."

"You forgot the part where during the party you me and Bruce have to give Tony and Clint rides home while Thor looks on, amused," Natasha chuckled.

"It'll happen, Natasha. Maybe not the way I said it, but something will happen."

"We'll face it together," she reminded, curling up closer to him. He nodded and placed a soft kiss to her forehead. Then he got his hands under her and lifted her up, carrying her to the elevator. They rode it to his floor, where he lay her down on the bed before getting in himself.

The curtains were open to the black sky above as he slid in next to her. His arm went around her lithe frame and they both sighed, closing their eyes.

They don't know where they went. Only that they went together with the knowledge that there was something after. That all of them would be together again. That there was something beyond the black sky that lingered outside their window.


End file.
